Wednesday, December 12, 2012

OK, I know what you're thinking: Shame on you, Dukie, for your despicable taunt. If I could reach my hand through the Internet - which we will someday be able to do - I would grab your insolent demon tongue, chop it off and use it for orthopedic shoe inserts, which we will someday be able to do. How dare you! Never again taint the Yankiverse with your smart-mouth bloggery! I speet on you. Pttuii.

OK. I get it. Nobody feels right today. We all just woke up in a Thruway motel bed, lying next to Youkilis. He's snoring. We don't know how we got here. The last we remember, he let us buy him a drink. Did we really ask him to dance? My God... we were out on the floor, and the band played "I Want to Kiss You All Over" by Orpheus. My God...
Sorry about that terrifying metaphor. It got away from me. I'm not myself today. This is supposed to be baseball. We're not fans of pro wrestling. In the squared circle, we would accept that Gorilla Monsoon (pictured) had a change of heart, turned good and joined Bruno Sanmartino in fighting Hans Mortier and Klondike Bill. These things happen when the universe is scripted by Vince McMahon, the would-be First Lady of Connecticut. But in baseball, where God is supposed to run plot arcs, these things are not supposed to happen. Players don't turn on a dime from good to evil.

Today, though... let's face it: Baseball is just an outdoor version of pro wrestling. The bad guy has been turned. All along, when doing those terrible things, Sgt. Slaughter actually felt bad about himself. One day, he looked in the mirror and said, "I cannot beat on my opponent's head before the opening bell anymore. I must champion goodness in the great game of wrestling." So now, we are supposed to cheer him?

Of course, we will. Don't kid yourselves, you tough-talking fans out there. One walk-off hit, and your proud boos will turn to an embarrassing Yook. One walk off hit, and he will snag your heart the way shipwrecked Tom Hanks snagged that crab in "Castaway." One big home run. That's all it will take. You will stand, you will open your joyless, piggy mouth, and you will cheer him.

As we all will Pedroia...

There. I said it again. Yes... little Dusty "Teacher's Pet" Pedroia. Will he be a Yankee someday? Of course, he will! Years from now, the sabermetric-heads who run the Redsocks will flag the money they're doling for a guy who can't bend over, and as fast as they can say Wade Boggs, he'll be sent to Kansas City or San Diego in a packing crate. And once that happens, the Yankee Atomic Clock starts ticking. Pedroia will want revenge, the Yankees will need a new 38-year-old, and the Boston-NY express will start a-chugging. It runs in both directions - yes, with Elston Howard, David Cone, Boomer Wells and Alfredo Aceves. But barring a Tony C-like event, it will happen for Peddy. It has to. Nothing can stop the clockwork of fate.

I give Pedroia four years in Afflecktown. By then, he'll be hobbling and dabbling with left field. They'll attach him to an email and press SEND. Read it and weep, comrades. That's all you can do. They laugh at your threats, Alphonso. They snicker at your claims, Commenters. We just wait for Vince McMahon to decide. They speet on us all. Pttuii.

each suggestion is better than the last. just an amazing assortment, any one of which would enhance the home-run listening experience when Youk does hit one of his 8 dingers through July, to go with his .228 average, 33 RBI and his generally indispensable clubhouse presence. Oh, boy!